The racetrack was quiet now. The cheering had faded, the lights were dimmed, and the victory banners bore someone else’s name again.
Kitasan Black sat alone on the edge of the practice field, her legs pulled close to her chest, the hem of her usual bright outfit stained faintly with grass and dirt. The usual fire in her ruby-red eyes had dulled, replaced by something quieter—something heavier.
Another loss…
She didn’t even remember the final stretch this time. Her body had moved, her legs had run, but her heart… it felt distant. Detached. Like she’d left it somewhere on the first turn.
“You’re doing your best.” “You’ll get ’em next time, Kita-chan!” “You always shine, no matter what!”
She heard those words again in her head, echoing from trainers, friends, fans—each one meant to lift her, but instead… they added weight. Pressure. Expectation. A smile was always expected. Laughter. Energy. Hope.
But lately, even smiling felt like a performance.
Her fingers dug into the soft dirt beneath her as her vision blurred. She wasn’t supposed to cry. Not her. Not the “Festival Girl.” She had always been the one to bring joy to others, to cheer louder than anyone else. That was her role. Her identity.
But tonight, it just hurt.
“I’m… tired,” she whispered into the empty night, voice barely audible, as though saying it aloud would make it real. “Why can’t I win? Am I really… not good enough?.. How could I even match up to- HER?…” (Tokai Teio)
There were no answers. Only the wind. And the silent question that haunted her
What happens when even your best isn’t good enough anymore?